Part Eight

Stan helped them clear off every flat space in the room, but Spinelli was kept at work on the computers, intermittently sipping orange soda and devouring bags of chips as he went. He barely spared them a glance until he heard the magic words. Or rather, magic word.

"What did you say?" Spinelli fairly fell out of his chair as he turned around.

The enforcer could only shake his head as Stan stated the obvious. "Candy." Johnny held a handful of lollipops and Jason had a few packages of cookies.

Jason nearly trembled with rage. "Anthony Zacchara sent cookies?"

Johnny looked at the tootsie rolls in his hand. "He never even let us have these kinds of sweets."

Stan tried to help out. "Maybe it's a reminder of something you couldn't have when you were a kid? Is that the clue?"

"Don't think so," Johnny continued, "it's too… straightforward. My father was always a sick bastard. The games he played with us were always double edged swords. Even when we won we lost."

Standing quiet lost in his thoughts Jason remembered the night on the parapet. Anthony was going to kill one of them… he only gave them the ability to choose. "His games haven't changed much then."

Johnny dropped the lollipops back in the box. "Oreos… yick.. what is that stuff in the middle anyway… I doubt it even rots."

"And what is wrong with that," Spinelli argued. "Oreos are amazing.. the white stuff inside is HEAVEN…" he sighed a wistful little sound before turning back to his computer. "If you won't eat them… I will."

"Later," Jason hushed him, "you have work to do… see if Anthony owns any distributor businesses. Emphasis on Candy and Cookies."

Johnny nodded with an appreciative smile. "Good one, Morgan."

Elizabeth was becoming tongue-tied… or rather tongue confused. She'd begun, halfway through the day mixing up her words and saying part of her sentences in Italian and part in English. Her tutor, rather than being upset was thrilled.

"You learn quickly, brava!"

She gave him half a smile. After all she was a motivated learner. Her boys were back in Port Charles and although Anthony had told her they were safe, she feared for them every second. It was that fear that kept her focused on learning these crazy lessons.

Her tutor opened the book again and pointed out another picture. "What is this?"

She looked at the picture of the art museum and couldn't hold back the tears that she'd been holding in so far. Images and dreams of another life and another time flooded into her mind and she covered her face with her hands and began to cry.

"Sonny?" Carly stepped into the Penthouse and looked around the living room. Nothing. "Sonny? If you're hiding from me I'm going to kick your-"

"Mom!" Morgan covered his ears. "Don't say bad words!"

"I'm going to kick your ass!" Carly shoved the door open and started to look around. Morgan closed the door behind them and looked around at the room. It was way too clean, he surmised. Cleaner than when his dad was living there. The maid must have just come in and cleaned up. Shrugging his shoulders he made his way upstairs to his dad's office. There was always something to play with in there and if he wasn't around, how would he know?

The young Corinthos rocketed up the stairs and burst into the office ignoring his mother's 'Don't make a mess!' warning and climbed up on his dad's chair. He was too small to see the top without tucking his legs underneath him. When he finally got himself settled he looked around for something to do.

There weren't any cool looking toys on the desk, but at least there was paper to draw on. He lifted up the piece of paper in the center of the desk. There was writing on one side, facing writing like adults did when they didn't want little kids reading stuff and the other side was blank.

He drew on the blank side. Sure, he liked playing around with his dad's stuff but he didn't want to get yelled at. He wasn't stupid.

Morgan managed to get a drawing started of the dog he really really really wanted his mom to get for him when the woman in question appeared in the doorway. "Morgan! I've been looking for you… we have to go. Your dad's not here so we're leaving."

He set down the pen and lifted up his drawing. "Here, Mommy…. for you!"

"Yes, yes, that's nice, sweetie," she shoved the drawing in her purse, "let's go and find uncle Jason… he'll know where your father is."

A little miffed that his mother didn't even look at the drawing, Morgan huffed along behind her toward the door. Maybe Uncle Jason would like to see the cool picture.

Elizabeth watched Anthony Zacchara pace around her in half circles on the hardwood floor. "I'm busy taking care of all the details for my party and what do i hear? You're crying, disturbing the staff? What is going on, Elizabeth? Aren't you happy with all the attention I'm giving you?"

There must have been something to the 'Zacchara' blood in her because she almost argued back with the older man. She kept it in check, though. She didn't want to anger him. Not until she knew she had a plan to get out of there safely.

"I'm sorry… I guess I'm just tired. I haven't had much sleep since I arrived. The time zones are so different and I-"

"You're starting to sound like you're weak." She tensed up at the criticism. "Then again, you've been raised by other people and from what I can tell they didn't take much care in how you were brought up." He looked at her closely, the dark smudges under her eyes should have given him concern. "You look like death warmed over and I should know," he laughed out loud at his own humor. "If I want you in any condition for the fun, you need some rest." He waved at the door. "Go… go and get some rest… you have an hour or so before the dressmakers arrive."

Elizabeth nearly fell back into her chair as she looked up at the insane dictator standing before her. "Dressmaker?"

He threw up his hands in disgust. "Women!" He nailed her with a sharp look. "Don't you know anything about presentation?" He shook his head, arms folded over his chest. No one picks the ugly cake in the window."

Anthony Zacchara turned his back on Elizabeth and stared out into the garden.

Elizabeth, eager to find some moment of sanity stumbled out of the room under the watchful gaze of her 'attendant.'

Spinelli stood up and announced to no one in particular. "The Jackal is fried! He need to refuel his batteries. He will be back momentarily to continue on with his search." He walked to the hallway, stopped, turned around, affected a deep bow that seemed right out of a period film. "I shall return."

Johnny raised an eyebrow at Jason after the boy disappeared. "You let him have access to your bank accounts?"

Stan raised his hand. "That's my job, not his."

"Phew," Johnny smiled, "thank God."

Spinelli walked down the hallway returning from the kitchen, his arms laden with sunchips and organic iced tea. "Johnny Zacchara," he murmured, "is a dork." He huffed as he continued. "The least they could have done was let me have some of the oreo cookies!"

A moment later he realized he had gone down the wrong hallway. Turning back around he tried another branch and then another. Realizing he was hopelessly lost in the Zacchara house he called Jason on his cell phone.

"Morgan," Jason's voice was short and terse, "what is it now, Spinelli?"

"Stonecold," Spinelli gave a great and ponderous sigh, "I am so freakin' lost."

There was something that sounded like a swear word, then silence, then-

"Cyber-geek, this is Johnny Zacchara, stop wasting time."

"Dude, I am so not wasting time, I'm freakin' lost.. your house has no character… all the hallways look the same."

Another huff and Spinelli was beginning to wonder at how much the two mob men sounded alike. "Open a door, Spinelli… you CAN do that, yeah?"

"Duh!" Spinelli, in truth, had to juggle his food but managed to open the door to a room a few feet away. "And?"

"What do you see?" Johnny's sing-song voice was terse to say the least.

"Oh, yeah… cool…" Spinelli looked around the room. "I see a table, and a window, really ugly drapes."

"Something 'different' than any other room, nerd."

"I'm getting to it." Spinelli moved further into the room. "I see a painting."

"Try again," he murmured aside to someone, "I can't believe you haven't shot the dork."

Jason's voice was muffle but he could hear his words. "I have."

Spinelli moved closer to the painting. "It's kind of big, round, but not circle-round, like the portrait on money-round. And she's pretty, oh cool, there's a name under the picture, maybe that'll help… hmm.. okay… holy freakin' sh-" The food hit the floor, chips bursting out over the carpet. "Stonecold, Dude! Figured it out! Soooo totally freakin' figured it out GET IN HERE NOW!"

Johnny's voice barked over the phone. "Where the hell are you, Spinelli?"

Staggering back, Spinelli focused on the room around him and then screamed into the phone. "Books… a ton of books! Dude," he laughed, "you have a library!"

Johnny heard him. "Stay right there, we're coming."

Sonny sat back in the chair of his jet and smiled as the attendant brought him a drink.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Corinthos?"

He waved her away and looked at the pilot who appeared into the cabin. "We'll be ready to leave in a few minutes, sir. The flight plan has been… edited the way you asked. It says that we're headed to Paris."

"But the ground crew in Italy?"

The pilot nodded. "They'll be waiting when we land, including your car." He gave the mob boss a smile. "We'll be there in no time." The pilot stopped and turned back around. "If you don't mind me asking, sir. Is this business or pleasure."

Sonny gave him a thoughtful smile. "Maybe both."